


Some forks bend much easier

by wastrelwoods



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, Frottage, Magic, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quanyii.....is really just such a pillow princess, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Tentacle Sex, im showing my hand and letting you know how fond i am of Enemies With Benefits, just. as a trope, thats where im at now! living my truth!, uh HUH YEP YEAH i wrote tent porn, which...in this context...probably? counts as sex magic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 18:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastrelwoods/pseuds/wastrelwoods
Summary: For the better or the worse, Sir Caroline has a wing of the knight’s barracks all to herself.Sir Caroline has an unexpected visitor. Quanyii has an idea.





	Some forks bend much easier

**Author's Note:**

> i am so proud of the very good and valuable work we are doing here to offer up our Weird Tentacle Content to the fandom and the world, and frankly i WOULD do it again
> 
> i dont have an explanation for why the title is this particular horse ebooks tweet it just felt right

________________

For the better or the worse, Sir Caroline has a wing of the knight’s barracks all to herself. Simultaneously a reminder of the unending pressures of performing a role that makes her strange, and first, and only--and a blessed escape from it. 

Lonely, some have called the long, dark hallway with its many doors leading to empty rooms. Some of the pretty women who return with Caroline when the moon is high and the hot night air drives them indoors to polish off a bottle of palm wine and see where the evening takes them. Lonely, the barmaids or blacksmiths or weavers say, when they see Caroline’s empty room at the end of the hall, all the walls bare and the bed covered in simple linens and the row of candles burned to melted stubs over the writing desk in the corner. More like a prison cell than a home. 

Sir Caroline doesn’t invite many girls back a second time. Not even the very prettiest of them. 

She strips off her mail coat and the tunic beneath before she’s even reached the end of the hall, sweat dripping down the back of her neck and mud drying just about everywhere else. One side of her ribs are purpling with bruises in repayment for a lucky hit landed by one of the new recruits. Caroline winces and wonders how the black eye she gave him in return is aging now. 

She drops her armor in a heap in one corner of the washroom and upends the whole basin over her head, shivering as it runs down her bare back and the tiles of the floor turn red-brown. 

In the south, she’d grown accustomed to shortage. Both water and heat in short supply. Friends in short supply, too. But in the heart of the Citadel, water is everywhere, dripping from every leaf and gable and pooling muddy in the streets, and every drop of it is hot. Caroline thinks its possible she has never sweat so much in her life as she did today, out on the field, except perhaps for the first day she arrived to begin her training, still clad in her heavy quilted leathers and furs. 

The deluge of hot water over her knotted, tense shoulders does nothing to ease the stiffness, and Caroline grits her teeth, shaking the droplets from her tightly cropped curls. She peels away her damp underthings and tosses them in the same corner as the armor, wandering back across the hall to her own room to see if there’s anything left of that palm wine. 

Caroline leans over to check below the writing desk, and freezes when she hears a low whistle. 

“Looking good, babe!” 

She shuts her eyes and inhales, slowly, then spins around to face the witch who’s sprawled across her bed. The intruder waggles her fingers in a coy greeting, and tilts her head to one side to let her long henna-dyed hair fall across her shoulder like a curtain parting. Her ears and throat are draped in jewelry studded with carbuncle stones and polished teeth. 

“How did you get in here?” Caroline snaps. 

Quanyii giggles. “Why don’t you ever think to ask the interesting questions, hmm? How about asking me _why_ I’m here, cutie, you’ll like that answer much more.” 

“I’ve never liked a single word out of your treacherous mouth, witch.” 

“Oh, flatterer.” She rolls onto her side, gives Caroline a thorough display of the transparent quality of her long dress that is undoubtedly very intentional, and cocks a hip. “I could be plotting against the Citadel, you know. If I wanted to be. But if you don’t want to know about my terrible, awful magical schemes…” 

Caroline leans back against her chair and crosses her arms over her bare chest. The posture of a Royal Investigator General is difficult to maintain while nude, but she is nothing if not a model of cool professionalism when she puts her mind to it. Quanyii stares her down from beneath her lashes and bites her lip hungrily, apparently not sufficiently intimidated by the display. 

“Well?” she snaps. “Are you going to tell me, or aren’t you?” 

Her eyes positively light up, and she brandishes a leather satchel pulled seemingly from thin air. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Quanyii shifts upright, now cross-legged in the midst of the bedding, looking so comfortable that it makes Caroline nearly feel out of place. Mostly, though, it feeds the subtle itch of pent-up frustration that’s left her irritable and tense all day, and produces the slightly maddening urge to pin her to that bed. 

The witch digs through her satchel and pulls out a handful of red berries, an eye that might be that of a monster, man, or beast, and something black and wriggling that is very definitely the former. Caroline grimaces as the detritus is scattered across her sheets, already past due for a wash. 

“Alright, babe,” she coos. “You’re gonna help me out with a little spell.”

Caroline stands straighter. “I will do no such thing.” 

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do any of the actual magic, I know it’s not your style. You’re a big, strong, sword-swinging type, I understand, you like to stab your way to a solution. I get it! Very sexy, by the way.”

“Allowing you to hone your…obscene practices within the walls of this Citadel goes against my vows as a knight of the crown,” she begins, passionately. 

“Well,” the witch simpers, tossing her hair and making a lewd gesture with her fingers and tongue. “If you want _obscene practices_ , cutie, you know you only have to ask.” When Caroline shuts her mouth, she holds up the small, wriggling black mass again. “Oh, now that’s a good idea,” she muses. “Sure, prehensile limbs are useful, but what’s the _point_ if they’re not _fun_ , too, right? A girl needs her fun.” 

“What is that...thing?”

“You like it?” Quanyii says proudly. “I pulled it off a sea monster. Some kind of squid. At least ten limbs on the thing, so I’ve got plenty of chances to experiment. And I just _know_ you could help me do it. And you still owe me that date, you know.” 

“I never agreed to a d--”

“I’m not asking for a lot, babe,” she says, pouting her pretty lips. “I’m bored! I just want to use this to make myself some magical helping hands, and see what I can make them do.” The witch pauses, and grins, and says, “Oh, and I wanna have sex. Of course.” 

Caroline blinks. “Yes, I...rather got that impression.” 

“So you’re up for it?” 

She stalks around the edge of her bed, looking Quanyii over and deciding that she’s not feeling particularly inclined to serve the Citadel any more this evening than she already has. A woman ought to be entitled to her own free time, to dispense with as she pleases. Caroline has always been a firm believer in that much, however malleable her loyalties might be otherwise. 

“Alright,” she says briskly. “Lets see what this spell of yours can do.” 

Quanyii makes a quick, delighted shriek, and reaches up to clasp Caroline’s face in her hands and plant a kiss on her lips. “Aww, babe, you won’t regret this.”

“I’m regretting it already, don’t press your luck.”

The witch winks one kohl-rimmed eye at Caroline and pops the slimy black bit of monster into her mouth. It writhes inside, but she swallows it down effortlessly, and Caroline wrinkles her nose in disgust as Quanyii licks her painted lips and grins. “Tastes like seaweed.” 

“Foul,” Caroline comments. 

“Mmm, yeah, it’s a little like chicken, too, you’re right,” Quanyii says, as the air around her shivers and tears open. 

Caroline watches, eyes wide, as half a dozen thick, long tendrils push their way into being, erupting from the witch’s back and shoulders or somewhere just behind that, spilling across the bedsheets where they lie, writhing, dark and shining. 

“Ooh,” Quanyii croons, and wraps her hands around one. “I could get used to this. What do you think, Caroline? How do I look?” 

“Strange,” she says, but there’s no bite to her voice. The truth is that the witch is always strange, and it has never yet stopped Caroline from wanting her. Let it not be said that she is above knowing her flaws, though she makes no effort to correct this one. 

The tendrils--tentacles, more truly--twitch and shift at random, to begin with, but as Quanyii finds her bearings they start to move with a little more purpose, trailing over her body like her new limbs are exploring her as equally as she explores them. Tracing across her thighs, wrapping around her waist, teasing at her breasts, which prompts a giggle and a hum of pleasure. 

Caroline feels a surge of entirely unexpected jealousy. “Do you expect me to just stand here all night, then?” 

Quanyii glances at her, and shrugs as one of the tendrils lifts the hem of her dress and darts beneath. “It’s not my fault,” she says blithely, “I think they like me.” She gasps, a little, at some subtle movement Caroline can’t quite make out, and gasps again, running her hands over the ones winding around her. 

“Well, I suppose everyone has a flaw,” Caroline concedes, settling onto the bed. 

The witch turns a slightly tremulous smile in her direction, color rising high in her face. “You don’t have to pretend, cutie, I know you like me too.”

Caroline doesn’t answer as she hikes Quanyii’s skirt up over her thighs and sees the tentacle sliding slowly across the hot core of her body. She’s got a spectacularly pretty cunt, which is no surprise to Caroline, with a little silver ring pierced through the hood over her clit, which _is_ a surprise. 

The tentacle slides across her lips, shallow and then deeper, seemingly encouraged by her enthusiastic cooing. A faint ribbed texture catches the light, like the pattern of scales on a serpent. The blunt tip of it prods at the silver ring, and Quanyii moans, clutching at one of Caroline’s wrists. “Mmm, just like that,” she says with a shiver, her high voice deepened by arousal. 

Caroline catches another of the tentacles in her hand, strokes her thumb over the surface. It’s smooth one way and rough the other, not hot but almost humming with a strange sort of potential energy. “Can you feel what they feel?”

“Don’t be silly, they’re not mine, you know, I’m just--oooh--just borrowing them.” 

Caroline narrows her eyes at the tentacle twitching in her hand. “Magic is so distasteful.”

Quanyii lets out a heartfelt groan, her back bowing and her hair spilling against the pillows as the tentacle that had been exploring her probes deeper. “Speak for yourself, babe,” she says. 

“Well, of course you don’t mind,” Caroline explains, tipping the witch onto her back and spreading her thighs apart to give better access to the tentacle fucking into her. “You’re completely depraved.” 

Quanyii laughs breathlessly, groping at her breasts and panting, her mouth open and dark and wet. “Oh, lover, you say the sweetest things.” 

“Positively filthy,” she continues, and pushes one of her long legs up so that her knee is hooked over Caroline’s shoulder. Her fingers find her clit and press against it firmly. “A ridiculous sybarite.” She works her fingers roughly against the bundle of nerves as the tentacle twists and thrusts inside her cunt, and Quanyii throws back her head and shouts. Her voice breaks a little on a desperate cry, like her orgasm takes her by surprise. 

One thing Caroline can say for certain, with the unrestrained volume of her bedmate it’s really a good job that she has the barracks all to herself. Not that she would give a toss about subjecting the whole Citadel to the sound of her bedsport, but for the principle of the thing it is convenient. 

She eases up the pressure on her clit as her thighs tremble and her moaning turns to a gentle whine, but the tentacle working inside her goes on twitching and shifting without a care. Quanyii throws up her arms and giggles with delight. “Oh, I could do this all day.” 

“Saints preserve me,” Caroline grumbles, and reaches down to lift Quanyii by the hips and take her in her mouth. 

She works her tongue over her lips and between, laves at her clit and feels the contrast of hot skin and cold metal beneath her tongue. Below her chin, the tentacle continues to piston, and several more begin to prod excitedly at Caroline herself. 

Caroline shies away from their touch, but Quanyii’s hands come up to grip her still-wet hair and pull her back again, and she gives in. Possibly she’s a little petty in her careful application of technique to wring another orgasm out as quickly as possible, but Caroline thinks that if she had to be instructed on how to pleasure a woman by this witch of all people her pride would never recover. Luckily, she seems to have no such objections. 

“Mmm, you’re good at this, babe,” she breathes, petting the short-shaven sides of Caroline’s head, nails scratching at her scalp. “Totally wasted as a knight.”

Caroline looks up at her and glares. “Don’t believe I asked your opinion on the matter.” 

She sighs a long, belabored sigh, tilting her hips forward. “And I didn’t ask you to stop, cutie, but here we are.”

“You are insufferable,” Caroline tells her, and sucks hard at her clit. 

When she comes again, Quanyii folds nearly in half with the force of it, squeezing mercilessly at the tentacles wrapping around her arms, trembling from head to toe. Shining with sweat, a flush high on her cheeks, her lips wrapped messily around one of the tendrils so her moans are ragged and slightly muffled. It’s a sight that could keep Caroline warm through the very coldest winter chill of the Southern Frosts. 

Falling back against the pillow again, she lets the tentacle slide from her mouth, smearing the paint on her lips. “C’mere, babe, come on,” she pleads. “Closer. Promise I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

Caroline climbs over her and kisses her until her mouth must be full of her own taste, twining her fingers with the witches’ and pressing their hands down into the bedroll. She does bite, too, rather as much as Caroline expected, at her lips and then at her jaw, her throat. Her thigh shifts between Caroline’s own, sliding against her aching cunt, encouraging her to take her pleasure. 

She lets out a soft groan and rests her head against Quanyii’s shoulder, and obliges, grinding and shifting her hips, slowly as she finds a rhythm and an angle. Muffling quiet gasps against her skin, while Quanyii makes a pleased little hum against the column of her throat. “Oh, you and me are gonna have so much fun together, I can tell,” she murmurs. “Next time I’m gonna get you to fuck me just like that. Any hole, cutie, I’ll let you pick.”

Caroline swears. “You never stop, do you?” 

“Never ever,” Quanyii says happily, and the tentacles which had been writhing merrily around her suddenly shift to wrap around Caroline’s waist and hips, taking over, dragging her down and down, quickening her pace. 

It brings her so close to the edge so quickly that Caroline can’t suppress a shout, pitching forward, arms trembling as they take her weight. “There you go, babe,” Quanyii says, shimmying slightly in place and then taking one of Caroline’s breasts into her mouth. “Show off a little more, let me see how good you look when you come on me.” 

Whether its magic that tinges those words to send the pulse of heat through Caroline’s body that undoes her at last, she couldn’t say. She’s far gone enough that she feels it like a wave breaking against her back, cries out with her teeth gritted and her eyes shut tight.

A far more quantifiable supernatural force carries her through it, the tight grip of the tentacles still controlling the movement of her hips through her orgasm and past it, until finally they relent and release her, free to roll away and fall onto her back, try desperately to catch her breath. 

“Not fair,” Quanyii whines, and Caroline turns her head to the side to see her sitting up, frowning at the tentacles as they fall limp around her and pop back into whatever horrible dimension they’d crawled out of. “You little traitors, I was just getting started!”

Caroline raises an eyebrow, idly wiping the sweat from her face. “Tragic,” she says, flatly. “If you give me five minutes rest, I suppose I can muster up the will to tarnish your delicate virtue a little more thoroughly.” 

“You’d better,” Quanyii pouts, and kisses her firmly.  
________________

**Author's Note:**

> half of my brain wants caroline to use the word "bedsport" bc her speech is kind of archaic and formal that way and it fit BUT the other half is just relentlessly chanting SPORT SPORT SPORT SP


End file.
